Word Count: 2.7k

Word count: 2.7k

Category: Angst, Smut

Warnings: smut, a bit of rough sex ig, reader is sad tm, cult leader geto, an awful lot of dog metaphors, veeeery slight masochism but not really explicit. Takes place eight years after Geto left but reader's age is not stated.

Summary: When Suguru left, a part of you went with. It's not a surprise, that eight years after, you still come crawling back to him.

***

When Suguru left, a part of you went with. The school years spent together passed by in a flash and then he was gone without saying goodbye. No words, no letter, not even a short message to your phone. The wallpaper was still set to the picture of the two of you. He wasn’t smiling in that one. When was the last time he did? The more you study the phone screen, the more your hands tremble. His skin looks pale, the bags under his eyes holding all the colors of the night sky. How could you not notice? How could you possibly be that stupid? How were the signs so glaringly obvious yet slipped past your radar?

You were too happy, your brain suggested. Lost in the bliss, living in the soft summer days, only noticing that you had nothing warm to wear when winter came along suddenly. Shoko had told you not to blame yourself, yet you noticed that she had started smoking way more. You were often with her, when she allowed the nicotine to surround the air around you, letting the bright red cherry tip burn right to the filter. Those moments were quiet most of the time.

Satoru didn’t say anything to you, during that time. You often wondered if he was hurting more than you. If the guilt ate him completely instead of chipping away as it had on you. You wondered if he had any tears left to shed. Yours seemed never-ending.

You also wondered what your friends (if you could still call them that, after so many years of no contact) would think of you if they saw you like this. Hair matted with sweat and sticking to your forehead, skin clammy and flushed, eyes rolled to the back of your head and countless loads of cum decorating your pliant body.

Right now, Suguru had you on all fours, back arched harshly, his large, unforgiving hand aiding the pose with a tight hold on your hair, the other resting on your hip with a bruising grip. His hips were unrelenting in their pursuit of his pleasure, almost punishing with how harsh they were. Your body bounced back and forth with each mean thrust, your hands fisting the silk sheets until the knuckles turned white.

You squirm forward a little and his strong body chases right after. His lean, toned body leans on yours, more weight landing on you, his soft hair forming a dark halo around you.

“Not trying to run from me, are you, darling?” His voice is dark and a little breathy.

A soft grunt slips past his glossy lips and you still, taking and taking and taking until there’s nothing but him. His clean, woody scent surrounding you, his silky hair tickling at the sensitive skin of your neck and his huge cock tearing away at your insides.

“N-no. Sorry.”

You’re surprised by the breathlessness of your own voice, sounding so far away. Geto rewards you with a content hum as he kisses the shell of your ear with befitting gentleness. The only sound besides your own deep breaths is the loud squelching of your awfully wet cunt.

It’s not like he hasn’t prepared you. He spent what seemed like hours between your legs, dark hair pulled into a bun because he didn’t like distractions while doing the thing he enjoyed most. He dangled your pleasure just in front of you, only allowing you to cum when you begged real pretty and tear tracks embedded themselves into the soft skin of your cheeks. After that, he had stretched you out with his fingers, cooing at you almost mockingly when three seemed to be too much. And they were, they really were with how long, thick and calloused they were and yet-

Nothing ever prepared you to take his cock, not even when you were dripping, messing up his expensive sheets. He was massive — long, and thick and slightly curved to the side, hitting all the right spots instantly yet never fully fitting inside.

“No? Seemed that way, doll.”

Another kiss, this time to your exposed neck, before his thrusts pick up speed. It’s nasty and loud, yet missing the usual sound of hips connecting that most often came along with sex. Those two last inches never did fit, much to his displeasure.

Suguru angles his hips in a way that hits that spot deep inside, the one that despite countless times of trying, no else was able to hit in the way he was. You keen loudly, burying your head into the bedsheets and sniffling loudly, hands clawing around in search of reprieve.

Suguru grants you that one relief, the hand that was knit tightly into your hair finally leaving and intertwining with yours, fingers squeezing tightly, as if he was the one afraid to let go. His thrusts are still mean. Now, that he had finally granted you the pleasure of feeling his cock against that one sensitive spot, he abused the newfound power over and over and over again.

“You close, love? Tell me how it feels.”

His voice is sweet and as smooth as honey. The word “love” feels like venom dripping from his perfect lips. Another mean thrust and you’re keening, thoughts jumbled in your head, saliva dripping down your chin as if it’s your brain leaking out.

“Feels, ngh- Feels soo- Suguru!”

He actually laughs, sound melodic and heavenly. He’s a god above you, a vision of utter perfection, and you’re a mortal, on your knees in his temple, begging for reprieve, for pleasure, for him.

“Use your words, dear. Can you do that for me?”

It’s completely condescending. The only thing that’s betraying how tight you’re squeezing him is the slight grunts he allows to slip past. He had nothing to hide from you, anyway. Who would you tell, when you were so afraid of admitting that you shared your bed with him?

“M-mhm, wanna be good. Feels, ah, feels good-“

His thrusts slow and you can’t find it in yourself to feel bad for actually whining at the loss of friction. He’s a henchman and you’re the victim, willingly walking to him and laying yourself under the shining silver of the axe. Nothing seems to matter anymore, save for your pleasure.

Your hips buck back, trying to get him to speed his thrusts back again, but Suguru is not the one to give in that easy. His hand still on your hip tightens, fingers curling in a way that’s sure to leave bruises, that’s sure to leave his mark.

“You can do better. You want to come, don’t you, darling? Yeah, you do… So do better for me. Talk all pretty, okay?”

And how can you refuse Suguru, when he asks like that?

“You’re s-so big and n-no one else can fuck me like tha-that. I love your cock, love to fe-feel it in me, love the way i-it hu-hurts and lo-love you, ah-!” words tumble past your lips as fast as running water, afraid to disappoint him, afraid for him to leave.

Finally, finally his hips pick up their speed, the hand that was just squeezing your hip now slithering under your body and finding that little bundle of nerves in an instant. He seems to have no trouble playing you like an instrument, his practiced fingers drawing tight, fast circles on your clit. You just do your duty, keeping your back arched, your hips thrusting back to meet his movements.

It doesn’t take long for your vision to completely black out, screams and moans and little ramblings leaving your spit-soaked lips. Suguru aids you through your orgasm, never ceasing his movements against your clit. He gifts you with a couple more shallow thrusts before he’s pulling out with a soft grunt. In a moment, you feel the warmth of his cum hitting your back and your knees finally give out, body splayed out on the bed.

Suguru rolls over in order not to crush you, his own breaths labored and loud. You spend a long moment just catching your breath, head turning to the side and drinking in his painfully pretty features. The arch of his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose, his tired, dark eyes and his mused hair.

“You confessing your love for me was not something I had expected tonight.” He answers with a chuckle, your name slipping past his lips unprompted. No matter how soft it is, it still sounds foreign.

“It was just a slip of a tongue.” You reply, still studying each movement of his body. He was still so coordinated and delicate in his maneuvers, as if the intense session before didn’t tire him out at all.

“Some phrase about a cat and it being out of the bag seems to come to my mind.” Suguru chuckled, before standing up and disappearing for a moment.

He comes back with a wet towel, wiping away at the mess between your legs and then carefully caressing your back, removing all evidence of what has happened before. He puts it away immediately, always the one to stick to neatness and tidiness.

“Why didn’t you just finish inside? It’s less messy and I’m on birth control.” You find yourself mumbling the words. Perhaps you just missed his warmth, craving it to be so deep inside you that even after you left, some part of him still lingered.

Suguru hums softly, pulling you into his strong arms. His skin is warm against yours. He’s still naked, his chest pressed up against your back. It feels right. Like that’s the way it should have always been.

“Admittedly, I am not that possessive, darling. You can fuck whoever you like, someone who fits your moral compass and all that. I don’t need to cum inside to prove that you’re mine.”

He’s always so nonchalant about this. Like he’s absolutely sure that you would always come crawling back, even if it resulted in bruised knees and absolute banishment of your dignity. It hurt that it wasn’t exactly wrong.

“It seems that no one fits my moral compass nowadays. Perhaps I am getting too picky.” You answered quietly, softly. The smell of sex was still heavy in the air.

Suguru brushes figures into the skin of your arms, making your body instantly relax in his strong arms. It shouldn’t feel so safe. Not when the blood of so many people stain every inch of his skin. You can’t find it in yourself to mind. He had never hurt you, at least, not physically. The emotional damage was something you preferred to think about over a nice bottle of wine, alone.

“Perhaps you are. Or maybe we are just two sides of the same coin. I cannot seem to find someone who’s presence satisfies me as much as yours, either.

His words never fail to make you blush. You’re not a school girl anymore, it shouldn’t affect you at all, let alone this much and yet, when it’s Suguru, nothing is off the table.

“We are not the same and never will be.” You find the strength within yourself to answer. The words are weak and uncertain.

“Oh, are we not?” He answers immediately, the movements of his nimble fingers ceasing for a moment before continuing their path down your arms. He’s soothing you, you realize. How stupid. As if you ever needed that. As if he actually know how much you did.

“What are you implying, Suguru?” You ask, and your head finds it’s way to rest on his chest. Suguru finally relaxes, as if it was him who craved it instead of you.

“I will never change my ideals and yet you still crawl back to me like an obedient little dog.” He lets the words linger in the silence of his bedroom for a moment, “You will never change yours and yet I welcome you back into my arms each time.”

“Comparing me to a dog now?” Is all you manage for an answer.

The words have no real bite behind them. A metaphor of a dog with no teeth comes to your mind briefly. You are a scared animal, cornered in somewhere, just waiting for a hand that will feed instead of hitting. Suguru embodies both.

“That’s not what you should be focusing on. And that wasn’t even my point.” He waves you off with a gentle flick of his wrist.

“Spit it out.”

“We were doomed from the day we first met. It was meant to be happen this way.” He begins, and you can’t begin to understand what he’s getting at. Suguru often got philosophical after sex, “I believe it was Emil M. Cioran, who said “If you are doomed to devour yourself, nothing can keep you from it: a trifle will impel you as much as a tragedy. Resign yourself to erosion at all times: your fate wills it so.”

“Are you saying that there was nothing that I could have done to prevent you from leaving? That you are devouring yourself?” the words taste bitter on your tongue.

“I’m saying exactly that. The guilt is written all across your features each time I see you. Not only because you feel bad about us sleeping together. You can’t let go of it even eight years after, you carry it with you like a deadly weight. It’s going to drag you down one day, don’t you know?” He asks so nonchalantly, like he’s not expecting an answer. You offer him one anyway.

“And the part about devouring yourself?”

“Exorcise. Consume. Repeat it until everything inside you aches. My fate was written down on the day my cursed technique developed.” He’s quiet as he tells you this. Honest, for the first time in a while.

“And for you, that is synonymous to devouring yourself? Your technique?”

“More or less so. The rest of devouring is me reaching for a goal that is impossible to reach. Icarus flying too close to the sun, Laika trying to reach the stars.” He’s silent for a long moment after that.

You don’t really know what to say, either. The need to ask about why he was still doing this if he knew what the outcome was, dies down on your tongue. Instead, you hold onto his hand still tracing shapes on your arm. He gives your fingers a squeeze. The atmosphere of his bedroom is heavy and dark, melancholy weighing down heavy on your bones.

“You’re bad at pillow talk, Suguru.”

He offers you a small laugh, sound melodic and airy.

“And you’re trying to evade the topic. There was nothing you could’ve done, okay? And I don’t have plans for returning.” Your throat burns. The harsh reality that you have been trying so hard to avoid comes crashing down around you, “It’s not that you’re not good enough for me to turn my back on all of this. The thing is, you’re pretty, and caring, and your laugh, and your touch are the only things that can soothe my tired body.”

“You’re pouring salt into the wound.” You answer, and your voice is hallowed. He either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it. Deep down, you know that it’s the latter.

“My goals just always come first.” He adds, as if that wasn’t obvious, as if it hasn’t been the thing that’s haunted you for years, borrowing it so deep inside your body, soul and heart that it’s become familiar.

“Your goals always come first.” You echo, “You’ll die a selfish man, Suguru.”

He rearranges you into a more comfortable position, laying you down onto his chest and enveloping you both in a soft, warm blanket. His breathing matches yours and you feel yourself teetering along the edge of unconsciousness.

Suguru presses a kiss to your hairline, chuckling softly, before closing his own dark eyes. Can you even hear him anymore? Ah, no matter. He can always tell you the next time you come back to him.

“Don’t I know it, dear. Don’t I know it.”

i love them so much, my babies

If Shoko and Gojo had noticed Geto spiralling.

Sort of a rough continuation of the previous set of drawings on what would have happened had Geto called them.

curse user! suguru, rolling his eyes and saying into the phone, "no, satoru, i have no idea where she is. i'm a bit offended that you think i have anything to do with her going missing," before looking down at you—on your knees and looking up at him oh so prettily—and giving you a playful wink, his hand applying pressure on the back of your head so you can continue sucking his cock. "i already told you how i feel about you calling this number," suguru says, biting back a groan when his tip hits the back of your throat. "i left jujutsu high, so the sorcerers there aren't any of my concern anymore."

except for you, but satoru doesn't need to know about that.

Packing them lunch smau (post time skip)

Category: fluff, crack

Includes: Atsumu Miya, Kenma Kozume, Kiyoomi Sakusa, Tooru Oikawa, Issei Matsukawa, Rintaro Suna

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶︶⊹

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶︶⊹

Thinking of Suguru who totally has avoidant attachment style while Satoru has anxious attachment style and how that translates into their love lives w reader

Suguru x reader; Satoru x reader

not proofread btw, warning include rough sex, a bit of masochism and sadism, and toxic relationships

***

Thinking about Suguru who never left, but never received the help he needed, either. Suguru, who's moral compass is messed up and all over the place, who's only purchase on life is you. Sweet, cheerful and so awfully welcoming.

It's always late at night when he barges into your apartment, desperate and pent up. It's on times like this, where he fucks you like he hates you. He has you bent over the couch, legs dangling down, face shoved into the cushions by his large, rough hand as his cock drags through your walls with no care in the world. He's always rough and degrading, his hips snapping fast and cruel, pelvis hitting your ass in the way that will surely leave you sore and bruised.

Mean words slip past his perfect, glossy lips unprompted, then.

"So fucking desperate for my cock, you pathetic slut."

He's always desperate when he nears his release, his thick, long cock making you cry out as it hits all the right spots inside you, making you cry and moan broken syllables of his name, drool escaping past the corner of your lips.

His grip on your hair only gets tighter, pulling at the scalp painfully, making you keen. You can't help but look back at him, how he looks like a god above you, so high and mighty.

He's tall and muscular, with broad shoulders and a trim waist, his silken hair slipping out of the bun and strands of it clinging to his flushed face. It's perfect, too. Whiskey brown eyes half-lidded, perfectly shaped nose scrunched up slightly and his lips parted.

He catches your gaze, he always does, and gets meaner. Your face gets shoved into the pillows, uncaring if you can breathe, if you can speak. You never complain. Suguru doesn't like vulnerability, Suguru doesn't do vulnerability.

"Fucking trying to look at me, like you've earned that shit. You're nothing but a stress reliever with a tight cunt, nothing but a fucking cum dump. Take it, you whore, take it."

He's always meaner when he's about to come. It's a mask of sorts, because no matter how rough he's being, no matter how venomous his words are, he always makes sure to make you come, to have you soak his cock, slick dribbling down and staining his thighs. A few more sloppy thrusts and he fills you up with warmth that he never provides with his touch, or his words.

He makes you suck him off after, until your knees ache and bruise, fucks you again, if he's not too tired. He never stays over. Suguru just helps you into bed, cleans you up a little and presses a small kiss to the side of your head. That's all the affection you get before he leaves. And it's fine. He's bad at expressing emotions, he's bad at labels and relationships. Suguru always comes back, nevertheless.

***

Thinking about Satoru, who is so much sweeter. His best friend, the only person to ever understand him, has never left, but never fully stayed, either. Some integral part of Suguru left after Riko died. And Satoru knows that, god, he knows. You're his vice, his blessing, his angel in the darkness that has obscured his life.

It's almost akin to love. He texts you regularly, always checks up on you, asks how your day is going, comes over to take care of you after a perticularly rough mission.

When he fucks, there's no sign of roughness. He treats you like you're made out of glass. You think that he's afraid that you'll change, eventually, just like Suguru has. That's why he's so careful not to break you.

He spends hours between your legs, pretty pink lips latched onto your throbbing clit while two of his fingers hit the same spot inside again and again until there's no other choice but to come. He laps everything up like it's a blessing to be able to, he praised you all the way through.

"So pretty when you come, the most beautiful girl in the whole world. Absolutely perfect, I could spend days between your legs, love."

He fucks you carefully, restraint woven through every single part of his perfect body. Satoru almost never fucks you from the back. He craves to see your expressions, wants to see what feels good for you, what makes you moan and what makes you clench his pretty, long cock tighter.

He never scolds you for looking at him, revels in it, almost comes when your pretty, glossy eyes study each and every part of him. He's leaner, yet still strong, still the strongest. His skin is like porcelain, perfect and pristine, not one hair falling out of place even as his thrusts speed up, helping you chase your release. His eyes often remind you of a kicked puppy. Desperate for approval, desperate for your praise. You call him sweet names and chant his, when you see the ocean blue of his irises, when you see how his expression hardens and his lower lip wobbles slightly.

He's always so put-together, even when he comes. His thrusts never grow sloppier, he still drags in and out in a pace that you prefer, rewarding you with another mind-shattering orgasm before he paints your insides white, hesitant to pull out.

He always kisses you after, pushes your hair away from your sweaty, teary face and hughs you a bit too tight.

"So sweet for me, always milk my cock so well. How did I end up this lucky, how am I so blessed, love? Gosh, I absolutely adore you, baby."

In moments that follow, the strongest is vulnerable. He pulls out and cleans you up thoroughly, massages out the sore muscles and makes sure you eat and drink plenty of water.

Satoru never leaves after. He slips into your bed, pulling you close to his bare, muscular chest, his breathing a little erratic. When he thinks that you've fallen asleep, he begs and prays that you never leave him. It never fails to make your heart ache.

Suguru avoids everything that has to do with relationships, lust on a completely different level than love, and Satoru can't make one coexist without the other.

You can't help but think about how this jarring contrast would play out if they had you together.

HIS THIGHS ARE SO SEXYYYY

cr:_3aem